


Spheres of Expertise

by ohbthr (RegicidalDwarf), RegicidalDwarf



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Canon Era, Gen, If You Squint - Freeform, M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-27
Updated: 2013-11-27
Packaged: 2018-01-02 18:33:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1060147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RegicidalDwarf/pseuds/ohbthr, https://archiveofourown.org/users/RegicidalDwarf/pseuds/RegicidalDwarf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The ABC boys have a dance party. Enjolras is a great dancer, shut up, stop laughing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Spheres of Expertise

**Author's Note:**

> I wish I could blame Elenchus for this one. Sadly, it's all on me.

Enjolras has maybe possibly had a little bit too much wine. Maybe. It’s just that he drinks so little most of the time, and usually watered down, that he’s unprepared for the strong vintage they brought to the gathering tonight.

Jehan, in the corner with his violin, and Joly with a makeshift percussive instrument made out of an overturned crate box, have been playing for awhile, a mix of older numbers and newer waltzes. Most of the ABC (in varying degrees of sobriety) has started dancing with each other.

"Musichetta," he says, turning to the girl sitting beside him as she collapses laughing into her chair after a dance, "would you dance this number with me?"

Musichetta laughs and shakes her head, lightly and with no malice whatsoever.

"Thank you," she says, rising from her chair, breathing more easily. "But honestly, I’d rather dance with Courfeyrac." She nods her head to where Courfeyrac is flailing off beat with Boussuet, both clutching each other with laughter and barely managing to stay on their feet, and begins to walk across the room.

"But - I don’t - Courfeyrac is a terrible dancer!” says Enjolras after her, in a completely rational tone, not at all a shriek.

"Yes," says Combeferre, gently, because he is gentle and nice even when he’s being extremely mean and unfair. "But he also has fun. You, Enjolras, resemble a cat that’s been caught under the stream of a chamber pot, and carry yourself with as much grace."

His hand is resting on Enjolras’ shoulder, which usually helps anchor him, but right now is annoying. It feels like Combeferre is trying to hold him back from dancing.

Enjolras refuses to pout. He is the leader of a revolution, pouting would be beneath his dignity. However, he might possibly be glaring at Musichetta, who is currently across the room, pulling a half drunk Grantaire out of his chair in the corner.

The really unfair thing, think Enjolras, as Grantaire wraps an arm lightly around Musichetta’s arm and laughingly starts to twirl her around the room, is that Grantaire is really good. Musichetta is lovely, light on her feet and hair curling artfully around her face as she spins, but everyone already knew she was everything that was light and good. Grantaire, surly Grantaire, is breaking into a smile, waltzing with quick feet around the room. Musichetta doesn’t even glance over her shoulder, trusting Grantaire to navigate them around the other couples, her smiling face a picture of serenity and gaiety together. It would be a fetching picture, if it didn’t make Enjolras clutch his wine glass tightly in anger.

"You," he snarls as the song ends and Grantaire gently deposits Musichette back in a chair with a gentlemanly bow that is completely out of character. He looks at Enjolras and raises an eyebrow. His face is flushed red, with exertion for once instead of drink. It shouldn’t be remotely becoming. Grantaire raises an eyebrow.

"Me," he agrees.

"You can’t dance,” says Enjolras, pulling him away from charming, lovely Musichetta. Boussuet has finally released by Courfeyrac, and he steps in to sweep Musichetta along for the next number. Good. Let her have her paramours, she has more than enough.

"I can," says Grantaire. "I choose not to."

Enjolras doesn’t even know what to say to that, which is rare enough occurrence. Grantaire seems to be one of the few people that can leave him dumb and grasping. 

"Surely you don’t disapprove," says Grantaire, mistaking Enjolras’ silence. "Not when I saw you asking Musichetta yourself just a few minutes before."

His voice has gone colder than it was just a moment ago, fresh from the dance and grinning. Enjolras waves a hand, impatient.

"No, no," he says. Why does this always happen? He can feel the conversation getting derailed, veering into argument and then silence it usually does.

"Would you teach me?" he says instead.

Grantaire coughs into his glass, choking. Enjolras stands back, wondering if he should rub his back, or give him space to breath, unsure. Courfeyrac would know what to do, but Courfeyrac is dancing with Combeferre, letting Combeferre lead for once and therefore relatively on beat.

"Teach you?" asks Grantaire after a moment. "To dance?"

Enjolras frowns at the uncertainty in his voice.

"Yes? I know I am…proficient," he says, unsure, not liking the hesitation in his voice. "But it has come to my attention that I am not fun."

Grantaire laughs, sounding a tiny bit hysterical. He’s slid back into a chair in the corner, legs splayed, with another cup of wine.

"I’m not sure that’s something I can teach you," he says, tilting his head back. Enjolras towers over him at this angle. 

"Please," says Enjolras. "It pains me to admit that I am lacking in something, but here we are. Would you be so kind?"

Grantaire glances around the room, eyes wide and pleading, but Enjolras doesn’t know to whom. The song ends, plunging the room briefly into a ringing silence before the laughter of their friends flows in. Jehan is rising from his seat, laughing and claiming he needs a rest, grabbing a cup from Bahorel and draining most of it quickly. Enjolras looks back at Grantaire, who won’t look at him, who is frowning into his cup and drinking it down.

"Well," he says softly. "Maybe next time."

Courfeyrac comes tripping over, grabbing Enjolras by the shoulders from behind and pulling him away. Enjolras loves Courfeyrac, he really truly does, and he is the only person Enjolras allows to touch him that way, but at the moment he is angry enough to spit. 

"Get your hands off me," he snaps, and Courfeyrac instantly lets go. Enjolras turns, shame faced already, but Courfeyrac is smiling, not taking offense.

"Apologies, my fearless leader," he says, hands placed safely on his own hips. Enjolras shakes his head.

"No," he says, "I am sorry, you are allowed."

He leans against the wall and lets his hair fall in front of his face. His eyes are heavy.

"Are you alright?" asks Courfeyrac, who is always perceptive, even when Enjolras wishes he weren’t. He doesn’t know how to explain the feeling in his chest, the heavy tightness. He isn’t used to it, so he smiles instead.

"I’m fine," he says, and takes a sip of wine to cover his expression. He puts his wine cup down and grabs Courfeyrac’s hand. "Just tired."

"Alright," says Courfeyrac, running a soothing hand down Enjolras’ shoulder. They stay that way.

Jehan is finally bullied into playing more by Boussuet a few minutes later, laughing and waving them away as he takes a seat and pulls out more sheet music. Grantaire doesn’t dance again, and Enjolras doesn’t offer. He doesn’t know why that bothers him, but it bothers him all the way to his apartments that night.

"Maybe next time," he mutters to himself, until he can fall asleep.


End file.
